


Pocket Dimension

by Queen_Beastie



Category: Doctor Who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 04:32:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16319222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Beastie/pseuds/Queen_Beastie
Summary: Clara is the victim of a shrink ray mishap and the Doctor must get her back to the TARDIS to change her back to normal.  As of right now this is a oneshot written to complete a prompt, but I'm considering expanding on it and turning it into a multi-chapter story. Stay tuned!





	Pocket Dimension

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Person 1 accidentally gets turned pocket-sized and stays in Person 2’s pocket/shoulder/hair/etc for a while. (from otp-fanfic-ideas on tumblr)

“There’s a device on the TARDIS that can change you back to normal,” the Doctor offered.   
  
Clara glared crossly up at him, noticing how the corners of his lips kept twitching. “This isn’t funny,” she said, folding her arms. They were each about as long as the Doctor’s pinky fingers.   
  
“I’m not laughing,” said the Doctor evenly, but beneath the thunderous eyebrows and still somewhat-reserved expression his amusement was obvious.   
  
Clara rolled her eyes and huffed out a sigh. “Right. Well, what am I supposed to do until then? The TARDIS is miles away, and I can’t exactly keep up with you with these legs, can I?”   
  
“No matter,” said the Doctor. “I’ll just have to carry you. Won’t be an issue. Like this you weigh less than the sonic.” Clara watched from her perch on the Doctor’s palm—she marveled then at just how weird her life really was based purely on finding the fact that she was, yes, currently standing in the center of the Doctor’s right palm only slightly abnormal—as he used his other hand to fish out his screwdriver from within his jacket pocket. Then, eyeing her in a way that seemed only slightly apologetic, he added, “I will have to keep this hand free, though.”   
  
“Wait, what’re you—” Clara began, but paused when the Doctor flicked his gaze down to the pocket he’d retrieved the screwdriver from and back to Clara’s miniaturized face. “No. Don’t even think about it.”   
  
“Sorry,” the Doctor said, but his expression said otherwise.   
  
“Doctor, I swear to God—ahh!” Clara lost her balance as the Doctor lowered the hand holding her toward the lapel of his jacket. She fell backside first onto his palm, then slipped down his long fingers when he angled his hand like a slide ending at the entrance of his jacket pocket.   
  
“I will end you!” Clara snarled, gripping the circumference of his middle and ring fingers with each of her tiny hands as the rest of her body dangled beneath the red fabric. The Doctor merely gave his hand a gentle shake, as if trying to one-handedly deposit a stubbornly adhesive substance, and Clara finally lost her grip.   
  
She shrieked as she tumbled down, down, down into the depths of the Doctor’s pocket. Her butt slid along the inside lining for what felt like a quarter minute before she came to a rough stop at what must have been the bottom. She had been plunged into darkness from the moment she’d let go of the Doctor’s fingertips, but despite not being able to see as she climbed roughly to her feet she remembered that the Doctor’s pockets were likely no exception to the perks of Time Lord technology.   
  
“My pockets are dimensionally transcendental,” came the Doctor’s voice from somewhere above, as if he had read her thoughts. Clara sometimes wondered if he actually could. She craned her neck to look up in that direction and saw a tiny window of light at the center of the pitch darkness. A pale green eyeball peered down at her from it, taking up most of that space. The only other thing Clara could see now was one of the Doctor’s fingers holding the pocket open as he spoke. “Bigger on the inside than the outside, like the TARDIS. You’ll have plenty of space in there for the journey, so don’t worry about feeling claustrophobic. Or, you know, suffocatey.”   
  
“I hate you!” Clara responded in a hissed whisper that she hoped carried far enough for the Doctor to hear.   
  
“Just think of it this way,” said the Time Lord in a tone that told her he was ignoring the unfriendly comment. So he could hear her, then. Good. Clara had plenty of things for him to hear from her next. Most of them involving expletives. “You’re hitching a free ride while I walk us the sixteen-ish kilometers back to the TARDIS. You’re welcome.”   
  
“You just wait till I’m normal size again.”   
  
“Yeah, normal for you, maybe. Even with your stilts on you barely pass as average height. Is that why you wear them?”   
  
“They’re called heels! And, well, yes, I suppose that’s one reason.”   
  
“Right. Well, I’ve got snacks in there. If you promise not to leave crumbs everywhere you can help yourself.”   
  
“I can’t see anything!”   
  
“Oh. Hold on.” The Doctor’s eye disappeared to be shortly replaced by the tip of his sonic. He flicked it on and Clara was immediately bathed in its neon green light. She almost immediately had to clap her hands over her ears to drown out the piercingly loud noise that accompanied it. Apparently being miniaturized made you more sensitive to sounds.   
  
Clara could tell the Doctor was saying something to her, but couldn’t make it out over the buzz of the sonic. “What?” she yelled out.   
  
The Doctor turned off the sonic, returning her to the darkness, and repeated himself. “I said there’s a torch in there somewhere. Use the light of the screwdriver to find it.”   
  
“Got it. Can you turn off the sound, though? It’s really loud.”   
  
Even though Clara could only see a small portion of his face, she could tell when the Doctor rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah, sure. Let me just turn the sound off on the sonic screwdriver.” Despite the harsh response, when he shined its light down into the pocket again a moment later the noise was quieter.   
  
Clara took the chance to get a proper look at her surroundings for the first time. Whatever she had expected the inside of one of the Doctor’s pockets to look like—and, to be fair, she hadn’t spent a whole lot of time contemplating the subject before that moment—this had not been it.   
  
Her already large eyes widened even more as her jaw dropped in surprise. She was standing at the end of what looked like, for all intents and purposes, a cramped and narrow, but seemingly endless corridor—at least it appeared that way in the limited light of the Doctor’s sonic. To her right and left, as far as she could see, were shelves upon shelves of objects. Everything from the mobile phone she’d made the Doctor get months ago because he was almost never around to answer the line connected to the front of the TARDIS, to an entire level that seemed to be dedicated solely to bags of what looked like jelly babies, to dozens of futuristic-looking gadgets that Clara couldn’t have identified to save her life. The bare wall behind her and the floor at her feet, which appeared to be covered with the same red fabric that lined the inside of the Doctor’s jacket, were the only parts of what she saw that reminded her she was still, amazingly, standing in a pocket.   
  
“Did you find it yet?” the Doctor asked then, shaking Clara out of her state of awe. “It should be the third row down on the right, second shelf up. Or, wait, maybe the other way around.”   
  
“This place is huge!” exclaimed Clara, gazing up at the dizzyingly high levels, and then squinting as she looked ahead to try and find where the rows of shelves ended. The green light, however, only illuminated the first ten or so. Whatever was left of the rest of the corridor was cloaked by darkness, but Clara suspected the end of it wasn’t nearby. “How the hell do you reach the stuff all the way at the other end from out there?”   
  
“Magic,” the Doctor replied, then he repeated, “Did you find it yet? The torch? Because my hands are cramping up from keeping them in this position for so long.”   
  
Clara located the second shelf up on the third row down the right with her eyes. “Ah ha!” she said, and stepped up to grab the flashlight from its perch. It fit into her hand perfectly, which was a relief—she had had a half-image in her mind of herself straddling a comically large version of it like a horse just to turn it on—but confused her.   
  
“Hang on a minute. How come this thing looks normal sized? Isn’t it supposed to be, well, huge compared to me?” As Clara spoke she flicked its switch and was instantly bathed in a yellow light in addition to the sonic’s green.   
  
“Oh,” said the Doctor as he removed the sonic from the opening of the pocket and closed his jacket, leaving Clara with the flashlight as her only light source. She could tell that he’d started to walk then, presumably in the direction of the TARDIS. As he continued to speak his voice sounded slightly muffled, but clear enough to still be understood. “Well, that’s a bit complicated to explain to someone who doesn’t have a Time Lord’s understanding of interdimensional physics.”   
  
“Are you saying I’m slow?” scoffed Clara, raising her voice a little—more to make sure her friend/makeshift mode of transportation could hear her than because she was truly offended. She wasn’t afraid to admit that she didn’t have a clue how the majority, if not all, of the Time Lord technology she’d seen worked.   
  
“If we’re talking in Gallifreyan terms, yes,” said the Doctor. “Let’s just say it’s because of….wibbly wobbly, dimensionally trascendentally…stuff…that aligns your true height with the pocket dimension inside my….well, pocket.”   
  
“So…magic, then?” Clara offered.   
  
“Yeah. Magic.”


End file.
